


secrets then and now (boys of summer)

by badAquatic, orphan_account



Series: Trailerstuck [11]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Abuse, Alien Biology, Alien Culture, Alien Gender/Sexuality, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Drug Use, Implied or Off-stage Rape/Non-con, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-24
Updated: 2013-01-24
Packaged: 2017-11-26 17:36:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/652749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badAquatic/pseuds/badAquatic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You never will forget those nights. You wonder if it was a dream. </p>
<p>A Trailerstuck side story. Prequel to "matador".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Last summer

**Author's Note:**

> Out on the road today, I saw a BLACK FLAG sticker on a Cadillac  
> A little voice Inside my head said, "Don't look back. You can never look back."  
> I thought I knew what love was  
> What did I know?  
> Those days are gone forever  
> I should just let them go but-
> 
> \- "The Boys of Summer" The Atari

====>Present Tavros: Be Tavros one year into the past

 

You look at the test. It can't be right. You glare at it—teeth clenched, begging it to be black, _wanting_ it to be black. But the pregnancy test doesn't change to black no matter how much you try to mentally will it to do so. It remains a glaring red positive.

You let out a snarl and throw it across the room. It couldn’t be right. It just couldn’t. There was no fucking way you were wiggled up, not now. You grab the box and quickly pull out another test and spread your legs to shove it into your nook. Not like you can feel it being shoved in...

You wait, watching the seconds tick by agonizingly slow, your mouth dry and nerves. You nearly drop the second test due to how much your hands are shaking. You look at it. Positive. Another positive test. Again you throw it across the room, this time with a cry of anger before curling up on your bed, gritting your teeth and tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. You won’t cry, you aren’t pathetic and weak! You don't need pity, especially stupid self-pity. You press your cheek to your cold metal legs. They were just installed a week ago in a stupid botch surgery by your brother Equius. Of course the sweating jock of a blue blood had failed to mention the pain they would put on your pelvis, or the fact you wouldn't feel a damn thing in you nook....

 

You bang a hand on your legs letting, out another angry growl. Fuck Equius and his robotics, fuck your father Horrus and his snobby, elitist air despite the fact he was living in shit like the rest of you, and _especially_ fuck Rufioh for being so damn poor that he couldn't pay for a proper damn surgery! You sit up and grab your husktop and pull it over, quickly logging on. You hope the bitch that got you in this situation is fucking around on Trollichum.

 

\--adiosToreador began trolling arachnidsGrip!--

AT: yOU FUCKING BITCH! tHIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!

AG: What are you 8itching a8out now Nitram?  
  
AT: iT WAS POSITIVE! tHE TEST WAS POSITIVE!

AG: Wait what test? What the hell are you talking a8out???

AT: vRISKA? iM WRIGGLED UP, iM FUCKING WRIGGLED UP WITH your KID!

AG: You're so full of 8ullshit...  
AT: oH YOU WISH DONT YOU, yOU WISH I WAS JUST BULLSHITING YOU RIGHT NOW, i WISH i COULD JUST SAY THIS IS ONE BIG JOKE AND LAUGH IT OFF, BUT YOU KNOW WHAT? iT ISN'T A JOKE, iM WRIGGLED WITH YOUR HATESPAWN,

AT: vRISKA?? yOU BETTER SAY SOMETHING, tHIS IS YOUR WRIGGLER TOO!  
  
\--arachnidsGrip has gone offline!--

 

You stare at the screen and grit your teeth. That bitch. She screws you in a moment of pitch and now leaving you high and dry to deal with this? But it’s not like you can go storming over to her place to scream at her without having the entire trailer park knowing you are wriggled up. If that happened no doubt your mother would find out.....

Rufioh.  You grit your teeth again growling.

Comparatively, your mother is not the worse parent out there. He took you to the park everyday when you were young, tucked you into your recuperacoon, made sure you were fed, dressed and kept a roof over your head. He went to every dorky play you were in and would dress up as “Rufio” from Troll Hook as you went as Pupa Pan for trick or treating on Eldritch Night.

Money though was not something Rufioh seemed to be able to keep his hands on. There were times when you would eat cold dinner in the dark as he hadn't been able to pay the bills that month. When you were young Rufioh would make it an adventure with flashlights. As you got older it just got to be annoying to do homework by candlelight. Your mother didn't have a job.

What money came in was always what Rufioh could sell of his “special crops” deep in the swamp….which meant he took part in the Nitram family business of growing weed more or less. It should have been enough to pay the bills. Should have been enough for a lot of things. Yet no matter how much came in, there was little to be had. It had started to get more suspicious as you got older.

It had been by accident you had found out the truth of where the money was going.

 

Three nights ago, you hadn't been able to sleep. It was hot, your pathetic little fan was doing nothing to alleviate the heat. You carefully pulled yourself out of your recuperacoon. Pulling a pillow and blanket off your daybed, you decided to sleep in the much cooler living room. As you had made your way down the hallway, you noticed the light in the kitchen was on. Had your mother left it on? In your home leaving a light on was like murdering someone—you did it and you were going to get hell. Every volt of electricity cost money. You began to walk to the kitchen to turn off the light to avoid the fit Rufioh would throw in the morning, when you heard your mother talking.

You had been confused. It was late, past midnight even, so why was your mother having guests. You strained your ears to listen, you heard no response from another troll but you did hear the tap tap of your mother's claws on the kitchen table. Oh, he was on the phone, but at this hour....?

“Damara look, I've been paying out the nose for years. I haven't missed a payment yet, shit, I've gone months without electricity, gas and even water just to make sure I paid up. Just give me a few more days okay? I'll have it then.”

Your mother growled a bit before letting out a frustrated sigh, “Look! I don't HAVE the money for Aradia's child support right now! I don't have vouchers to sell or anything! Only thing you can take at his point is just a bunch of shit junk and this trailer. Just three more days okay? Three more days and I can pay you in full...”

Another sigh from your mother  as your eyes widened and your blood pusher seized up in your chest. Child support for Aradia? But....Damara was not your mother's matesprite so why, this....then everything, every damn money issue had made sense in that moment. All this time your mother had cheated on your father with Damara (of _all_ people) making some love spawn child with her.

“Yeah, I promise. I'll stop by your hive and pay in full okay? Geeze....what? No, I have _never_ begged Horuss for money and not starting today. He would ask questions....okay...yeah...night...”

Your breath hitched as you heard the click of the phone hanging up. Your metal legs felt made of lead. Somehow though, you managed to get yourself to move back to your room. Even the pain on your pelvis seemed numbed at the revelation.

You close your eyes at that memory, the memory that finally took your mother from his shining pedestal and made him a person to hate. Someone to blame for all the reasons why you never got what other kids had, why you never had anything other than hand-me downs from your own mother, why when you were sick you didn't have any vouchers to use and had to go to school, coughing up a lung while even someone like Karkat could get medication.

Even in the trailer park among the underbelly, poor shit stains of troll society, you were the ones licking at the mud. Now you knew why. It was all because of your father.

“Hey Tav, you okay? Heard a lot of yelling up here.”

Speak of the devil. You scowl at the door, “I'm fine Mom; just friends being annoying on Trollichum,”

“Oh....well okay. Got Chinese take-out tonight. Got your favorite; chicken lo mein,” Rufioh said, “You going to come out and eat? You've been in your room all day...”

You roll your eyes, slowly getting to your feet, wincing in pain, “I'm coming okay? Geeze; it is just some shitty Chinese food....”

There was silence from the other side of the door for a few seconds before Rufioh spoke again, “Yeah but you haven't really eaten today....you threw up breakfast this morning....”

You scowl, tensing up more. Yeah, you were sick all morning. It was the first sign of being wriggled up. It was no doubt morning sickness but you passed it up as bug and convinced your mother to let you stay home sick for the day. When he had left to go tend his fields, you had snuck out to raid his room for the pregnancy tests. You had been too nervous to use them until now.

You open the door, scowling up at your mother who just gives a slight smile before turning to head to the kitchen, his wings fluttering lazily, “I'm glad to see you are doing a lot better today. Probably can go to your last day of school tomorrow eh?”

You roll your eyes again and follow after Rufioh, scowling even more, “Yeah. Great. Go back to that shit hole again,”

Rufioh paused to look back at you, concern etched on his face, “You okay Tav? You seem...agitated. Are your legs feeling okay? If not we could-”

“They feel fine, Mom, and what could we do? Not like we have any vouchers as they seem to mysteriously vanish from the mailbox,” you say bitterly, moving to take a seat. You grab a carton of Chinese food, opening it to dump a mess of lo mein on your plate. Rufioh just gives you a slightly pained look, but forces a smile as he slides into his chair.

“Well we could get Equius to adjust them or even your father to take a look, you know?”

“Fuck them. They did enough. Why doesn't Horrus ever fucking come over? Doesn't want to admit he has a brownblood son?” You know you are just taking out your anger on your mother and family, but really—you don't care. You want to blame somone for this situation.

Ruifoh sighs, shaking his head, “Tavros, you know that....your father and I are not that close. It was financially better for both of us to live apart rather than as a joint hive. Lower taxes, more government aid, you know...”

“Maybe better for Equius. He never had to go without anything did he? Even though he is as poor as us, Horrus could always afford to get him what he needed. I wish I could have lived with dad. Maybe I would have turned out better!” you growl, stabbing your fork into your lo mein as if it had offended you.

Ruifoh pauses and sets his fork down, “Tavros, you don't mean that. I've been nothing but supportive of everything you wanted to do even if I didn't agree with it. I took care of you all that time when you were in a wheelchair, modifying the house to make it easy for you to get around-”  
“Yeah, but because you have to fucking sleep around and cheat on dad and pay child support I had to get a botched back alley job from Equius just to walk again!” you shout.

Ruifoh's eyes widen. Shit. You are so angry you just let the cat out of the bag. You don't care. You want to hurt him; you want to make this asshole pay for your problems. But part of you realizes you’re just taking out your anger on the one person who had never left your side even when you were the shittiest brat alive.

“Tavros...” he slowly starts, glancing away, “....yes, I did sleep around but I was young, stupid, and prone to making bad decisions, and I couldn't just leave Damara high and dry. I had to take responsibility for my mistake. Things like this happen sometimes. It was a mistake. The condom broke....”

You just glare at him, teeth clenched even as his look becomes almost pleading, “You got to believe me that I didn't want things to turn out this way. I wish I could have bought you everything and been a household like Horrus's. It was a faulty condom and then....what kind of troll would I be to abandon my own child?”

You almost flinch. Almost. Because you really were no better than your father with the wiggler now growing inside you—that you wanted to flush out or throw out on the street curb. The wiggler that you wanted to abandon. And that just pissed you off more that Rufioh, even in the same damn situation, still came off as better than you. He was tall, you were short. He had wings and yours never came in. He was confident and despite the odds still managed to raise you as best he could and make the best of every situation. And you?

You were falling apart.

“Tavros please talk to me,” He’s pleading now. You can hear the hurt in his voice, “We can work this out... look....no more secrets. I'll tell you everything okay? You don't have to push me away....if this was bothering you, you could have talked to me about it,”

He reaches across the table to touch your hand. You pull away with a snarl getting to your feet, “And forgive you?! _You_ are the reason I'm so screwed up! Sheltering me here, acting like I couldn't handle hearing the truth or handling anything for that mattered!  I'm not some little grub anymore! I'm nearly an adult! _So fuck you!_ ”

You slam your hands on the table, making him jump and flinch away. He bites his lip but he doesn't say a thing or make a move as you leave the table, angrily stomping to your room. You ignore the pain coursing through your abdomen at every step. You slam your bedroom door shut, locking it behind you. You flop down on it.  

The anger doesn't go away. It’s gnawing inside of you. All the emotions of finding yourself wriggled up, the fact you could barely feel anything in your nook and bulge, the fact that you were a crippled freak and probably repulsive to look at, the anger at your mother and the anger at yourself for hurting the one person that was always there for you no matter what shit hit the fan.

You grab your pillow and begin to shred it, clenching your teeth. You can't stay here. How could you face your mother when it came out you were pregnant? He would know....

You get to your feet again, feeling far too calm as you begin to hastily pack a few of your things into your school bag. Not like it had anything of use in it being the last few days of school before summer.

You had to go somewhere, anywhere. You can't stay here. Your mother would tell your father and shit would hit the fan and no doubt your mother would want to keep your egg despite putting your family further into the poor house. You grit your teeth. No. You'll fucking do better than your deadbeat mother! You just need somewhere to go.....then it clicks.

Hanael Gilpin. Neither of your parents approved of him and he lived all the way on the west side, in Aniline End. You could lay low with him. The rumors said his father was a drug dealer, which meant he had the money and no doubt knew places to hide out at....and if the gossip was true you could get with him if you.....

You swallow dryly before gritting your teeth and finishing packing your things. Not like spreading your legs for him could be anymore shameful than what Vriska and you did at the beginning at the week that landed you in this mess in the first place.

Vriska and you were having a pitch fight again, arguing over something stupid...and then...

 You shudder. No. Not the time to think about that. Right now though you have to get away; get away and deal with this.


	2. be the runaway

**=== >Tavros: Be the runaway**

 

Days later you are Tavros and you are....you can't believe you're doing this but you have to. You have to contact Hanael. You know his crew hangs out by the East End Motels—probably where they deal their drugs. You can't walk there; not without a lot of pain. So you gather your stuff and use your student ID to take a free bus ride to the most hopeless place in New Jack City.

The East End Motels are only a part of the area that’s actively inhabited. Most of it is dominated by abandoned buildings, now converted into who knows what by the local gangs. Huge tracks of junkyards stretch out, fenced in and guarded by all matter of junkyard lusus. It looked someone had bombed the place to hell and all that was left were the starving survivor.s Once upon a time, Terezi, Vriska, and you would joke about how much of a shit stain it was and how you would never end up there.

You must have jinxed yourself...

You get off the bus and feel every hair on the back of your neck stand up as you look about the place. It is a wreck. You heft the backpack over your shoulder and start to walk toward the motels. You just pray Hanael is there tonight or you’re going to have to stand out around this place at night...

You see Hanael Gilpin  with his crew walking to the parking lot—having just come from a successful drug run most likely as they were laughing and high fiving each other. Truth be told you always had a crush on Hanael but you never really acted out on it. You knew Karkat also had somewhat of a crush on Hanael and made it more....clear in his blushing, always trying to talk to Hanael, and appear like he was smart. So far Hanael either liked leading Karkat around or was just too dense to figure out Karkat was flush flirting. Not that you could talk. You weren’t any good at flush flirting either.

You take a deep breath. You have to do this. Just... just be like Vriska. She wouldn't be scared. Hell, she could talk her way out of anything. She would have no trouble flashing a smile to Hanael and getting what she wanted. You take another breath and start to shuffle over. Just dazzle the cobaltblood with a smile despite the pain shooting up from your legs to your waist. You just have to shake your glute like you own the sidewalk like Vriska would.

As you draw close, one of Hanael's boys nudges him. The cobaltblood turns to look at you with a slight frown, a cigarette hanging from his lips.

 “Yo, yo, yo shitblood dis aint da place fe ya kind,” He growls at you, blowing out a cloud of smoke, “Piss off!”

Oh gods... _why_? You feel like crying. Of course he would turn out to be a bigot, hemotypist prick. Take him out of school and put him on the street, where he clearly is acting like some big overblown idiot. Hell, you should have gotten a clue by the way he was wearing the Capricorn symbol on his coat when you know for a fact neither of his parents were purplebloods. He just wants to be associated with the bigger, tougher hemotype. You want to throw up and it isn't from the wiggler...

You swallow down your nausea and force a smile, fluttering your eyelashes like you think Vriska would, “U-uh, hey Hanael, uh I-I was wondering... if you could do me a favor...” 

He glowers at you, and gets to his feet, moving to get up in your personal space, “An' what favor iz dat gona be? “

You take a deep breath. It is now or never, “I can't stay with my folks right now and I need a place to lay low and ...well I would do… _anything_ for a place,”

You feel your stomach lurches when you see the smirk slowly spread across his face. He steps closer letting his eyes trail over you like he is appraising a piece of meat on the slab. You feel like throwing up again.

“Anythin’ eh?”

You nod and force what you hope is a flirtatious smirk, “Yeah. Anything...”

He lets his eyes stop at where your metal legs meet flesh; a slight frown comes to his face, “Does ya nook evun wurk anymore?" 

You lick your dry lips and work up a grin for him even though you want to run.

“Does it work? Heh, you really should be asking how wet and tight it is...” you say with a shaky purr, running a claw down his chest.

Oh gods... what are you doing? What in all hell are you doing....?

Hanael's grin grows when you say that. He jerks his heads at his posse and they scatter off. He puts an arm about you, letting his greasy fingers trace down the base of your neck, “I think we can wurk sumthing out…”

He leads you toward the dirty motel with its neon sign flickering on and off and nearly falling off the post. The doors are rusty and the numbers nearly rubbed off. Outside there are a few dirty looking hookers dressed in bright tacky colors watching as you and Hanael pass by. Of course he would already have a room rented out. He was probably all set to drag one of those hookers to bed tonight if you hadn't crawled up, begging him and offering free nook. The cockroaches inside are probably the size of small cats.

“Sounds fine, just have to lay low for a while. Heh, I...I really appreciate this baby,” You say, giving another grin even though on the inside you want to run back to your mother and apologize for everything.

“You just agree to do everythin’ I ask of you an' i'll keep yous hiddun well enuff heh.... “ He says, purring and running a claw down your back. He even licks his lips, like that is suppose to turn you on. Ugh, you feel dirty for ever having a crush on this dirtbag.

But you smile at him even as you shudder at his _disgusting_ touches.

“Just call me the uh...the little engine that...uh fucks,” you say with a strained voice. Your smile feels as fake as the one Horrus gives people. “And uh, the best part about the metal legs? I can be uh...on my knees for like hours!”

And now you want to shoot yourself for saying something so retarded as that. You sound like a little virgin boy trying to play the part of a hot sexy seductress.

Hanael just snickers and opens the door to reveal the dirtiest motel room you've ever seen. The carpeting might have been red at some point but now dark stains were splotched over it and ripped up in places. The walls were streaked with dirt. He takes you past the living room area with sagging couches and the greasy kitchenette to the bedroom.  The bed was pretty much a gray lump of rock with a genetic fluid stained sheet pulled over it and a few grimy newspaper blankets thrown over it. The wall above it has a bullet hole.

And you were about to get fucked on that rock.

You guess losing your virginity in a locker room with Vriska was a lot better than losing it in this place at least...

Hanael moves to sit down on the bed, smirking at you and leaning back. With one claw he beckons you towards him, acting like you should be awed and inspired to be given the privilege to be near him now.

“Well then, “ he begins, still with that smirk plastered on his face, “Let’s check if yous can handle ya mouth well enuff to has reasons to be on ya knees! “

Dear gods above—he didn't ignore your tacky pick up line. He just rolled with it with a gag worthy line of his own. You wonder if this bastard is for real or just a caricature. You swallow and move towards him. Your heart is thumping in your chest. Oh gods. What are you doing? You have no idea what you're doing. Fuck. _Fuck_. Alright. Take a deep breath. Be Vriska. Vriska wouldn't show the panic on her face. No, she'd just smile and kneel down so you're at eye level with his bulge.

“Well...heh...if you really need proof pal...” You say, forcing yourself not to stutter, faking confidence.

Remember what Vriska did. Remember what you've seen in the porn you glanced at (before shutting the browser after getting too embarrassed). You rub at his bulge purring. Now you just got to talk and acted the part.

“I always wondered what _cobalt_ tasted like...” You purr looking up at him so you wouldn't have to watch your hands feeling him up through his pants.

He smirks down at you and leans back on his elbows, not doing a thing to help you—like he's the Empress of Alternia herself. 

“Well come get your fill slut...”

You unzip him, making sure to steady your hand. You look at his bulge. The color is a paler blue than Equius's, looking closer to violet. You wonder if one of his parents really is a—no. That's not your concern now. You lean forward. Don't think about it. Just lick it. Lick it and make noise.

“ _Mmmmm_...heh...”

He gives a low purr and an impatient tug of your horns, pulling you further onto the bulge. You blush; you may act the part but this is your first time doing this, “Don't be shy biatch. Yous betta do da heavy job or yous will have go back to ya parents,” he growls low.

You pout and nod—or as much of a nod you can do with a bulge down your throat. You trail a finger along the outside of his nook. Slowly you slide your tongue over the tip of his bulge trying not to gag. You can do this. You just need to focus...

You pull off his bulge slightly if only to purr, “Mmmm... just wanna make sure you feel good baby,” and take his bulge back into your mouth. Its’ just like being in a play. You're playing a part. You have to play this part well. The part of a grateful whore.

You lick him again and then, slide your mouth over the tip. Oh gods. This is awkward. Awkward and horrible.

“Oh....that’s it slut.....you can take _more_ than that though…” he says with a smirk putting hand to the back of your head.

 You go down further. You have to do something. Something to make him think this is....enjoyable. Ow. Your jaw hurts. Don't think about it. Think about something else. Just think about Pupa Pan. Or something. Anything. You force yourself to purr.

You pull off again. You pant, playing the part. “Mmmm baby you are so good...”

This is humiliating.

You go back down on him again. He purrs more and starts to rub your horns; his bulge is really squirming in your mouth. “Oh yeah... that's it...just like that...more _tongue_ baby...”

You give him more tongue. You purr louder. You keep rubbing at his nook. You can do this. Play the part. Be the porn star. You give a muffled “Mmm that's it baby, mmmm yeah” which makes you want to cringe. This is sounding like some terrible porno now.

He is moaning and starting to buck his hips more, forcing more of his bulge into your mouth. He grips your hair and forces more of the writhing appendage down your throat.“Oh fuck yes! _Mmmmmm_! Just a little more!”

You gasp. You can’t breathe. Oh gods. Not good. Don't panic. Just...just go with the flow. Go with the flow...you make a loud, fake moan and keep fingering him. Keep working it. You’re gagging, tears in your eyes as he forcefully takes your mouth. Finally he tenses up and releases with a loud moan.

“Oh fuck yes....!” His head is lulled back but he doesn't let you up, forcing you to swallow his nasty swill of genetic fluids. You choke down the fluids. No. Don't gag. Relax your throat. You swallow it. You pull off his bulge and pant. You have to look flustered and astounded instead of nearly-suffocated and nauseous.

You cough, the tang of his fluids on your tongue twisting your stomach, “W-w-wow baby, you came so fucking much...”

Some of his fluids drizzle down your chins. This is so fucking disgusting. Don't puke. Just...deal with it. Play the role. Ignore the candy colored blue shit on your lips. You smile at him. Please let him be satisfied.

The gods are not kind though, as Hanael smiles down at you. He stands up to slide out of his jacket and pull off his top, “And we are just getting _started_ , slut...”

You force yourself to stand, legs trembling. “I'm... I'm ready baby... but uh... can we keep the lights off? It makes it more romantic and fun.”

He would maybe freak out at the scars and honestly...you don’t like people to see them... 

Hanael smirks and flicks off the lights, plunging the room into the darkness, “Oh if you _insist,_ ho.”

You get on the bed as he begins to tug at your clothes, roughly pulling them off. You aren't even aroused by his pawing at you. You continue fake purring as loudly as possible though.

“Mmm, that is more _like_ _it_.” you say as he pulls your shorts off, “So... how do you want me baby? On top of you? Under you?”

You can practically hear the sleazy smile he is giving you as he gives your glute a slap. “On all fours...that’s how I like to ride my lowbloods.”

You wince. Stupid fucker that hurt. No. Don't think about it. Get on all fours. Look at the wall. Just do this. Play the part. You wiggle your glute at him.

“Funny... as that is just how I _love_ to be ridden by my highbloods.” you say with another purr, like you are enjoying his disgusting touches.

“Heh, dat's right shake yous glute yous fucking mother gave yous!” he says giving it another slap.

No you were wrong. _This_ definitely more humiliating than swallowing his genetic fluids. Hopefully it’s over soon. Hopefully he doesn’t have highblood stamina.

You scowl but say in your sweetest voice, “I'd shake it all night for you baby,”

He smirks and thrusts into you moaning.

It is not over soon. No gods answer your prayers. He keeps going into you, calling you all sorts of degrading names. Shitblood minx. Cattle whore. Longhorned slut. He holds your horns like handlebars as he pounds your nook. 

Yup. This is a lot worse and a hundred times more degrading than you thought. Ignore the names. Ignore it. It doesn't matter. You shift your hips although it hurts like all hell. You moan loudly. You pant. You grip the sheets. You can't feel a fucking thing but you make noise and howl like he's the God of Blood of Haze and you're his most devout priest. You shout about how fucking good it is and gasp. And moan. And pant.

You'd be winning Oscars for this kind of performance.

You're relieved when the bastard finally climaxes. At least that's over. You inch away from him, trying to smother the disgust rising in his stomach. You want to vomit. Nope. Scratch that. You definitely _need_ to puke because you've only eaten poptarts and soda all day.

The bastard doesn't even respond to you moving off him. He flops back and moves to sleep, rolling up in the dirty blankets, no doubt smirking. You could be crawling off to the cops for all he knew and he wouldn't budge an inch in his “post orgasmic bliss”.

You crawl off to the bathroom, still dripping candy blue genetic fluids. You'd be worried about having his horrible spawn festering in your stomach if you weren't already knocked up. Knocked up and pathetic as all fuck. It doesn't matter anymore. You puke up pop tarts and diet soda along with genetic fluids. You don’t look at it as you flush.

You stagger to the sink, ignore the feel of a roach over your metal foot. You look in the mirror and you just....break.

You spend the rest of the night curled up on the floor, not sure what to do with yourself.

You wish time would stop...


	3. in the morning

The next morning, you wake up curled up in the dirty bed alone and your stomach is rumbling. You threw up what little you had eaten after you, more or less, sold your body to Hanael. You yawn, feeling dirty but you doubt taking a shower will “clean” you, at least not in this motel room.  
  
You get to your feet and peek out of the bedroom. In the living room, Hanael's posse is now sitting, laughing and carrying on. A nervous looking stick of a woman is in the kitchenette cooking; probably the girl of one of Hanael's boys. You can smell waffles being made and your stomach lurches. You’re probably hungrier than usual because you got a grub on board who needs extra nutrients too.

Your “boyfriend” is lounged out, bragging about how he fucked you last night. You resist the urge to punch him as he makes you sound like a complete whore that came along, begging for his bulge. You put on a smile and walk over to him, hovering over his shoulder. You bend down and kiss his cheek. He smells of thick cheap cologne and sweat.

“Hey baby, I'm starving, got anything to eat?” you purr.

Hanael turns his head toward you with a grin. He seizes your arm and pulls you into his lap. He pets you like you’re his property. “How ‘bout some genetic fluids eh?”

You resist the urge to grimace at how gross he is, how awful the cologne smells. You just keep smiling, “Hey baby, I'm all for your genetic fluids but I need some waffles in me if I need to keep going!”

Hanael gave a barking laugh, “Waffles? Don't make me laugh! We iz gonna get yous some frigin poptarts! Anythin’ as heavy as waffles fer someone livin off our charity! “

Your stomach convulses nervously. The last thing you want is more sugar. You pout and rub against him like a cat begging for scrapes, “Aw baby, don't be like that. What do I have to do to earn some real food, _huuuuuuh_?”

He smiles. His posse chuckles. You look out the corner of your eye. They’re leering at you. The stick thin woman retreats to the door. You know the answer before he even says it.

“Fuck ya way to it. Yous iz livin on da charity of me boys, so unless yous iz gona dig to eat wateva iz in da cuboard yous iz gonna spread ya legs. ”

 Your stomach twists. Your nook is still aching. Someone's bound to notice the scars or wonder why you always keep the light off. Think. Think fast. You keep smiling and nuzzle against him. You don’t want to be made into some gang’s shared lowblood whore. You swallow and put on your best pout hoping to appease to some humane part of this asshole.

“Oh baby, why you gotta be like that? I got a real sweet face baby, despite all the nasty stuff I do with it to you....maybe...maybe I could steal you something nice...anything my baby needs...”  You are grasping at straws.

Stealing something could get you in a lot more trouble than just some sleeping around. He doesn't listen to your pleas. He just laughs and flicks your the nose.

“Can ya pansy ass evun steal shit?”

His boys are coming closer now like vultures to a carcass smirking as they eye you up. It is only a matter of time before they wet their bulges in you. You feel so small, so afraid, so insignificant. You are pretty much useless to him other than how you can serve in bed. You feel dread settle in. What happens when he finds out your pregnant? What then? What the fuck will you do when you can't fuck him anymore?

Even with those thoughts you just pout and nuzzle and try one last desperate attempt to get out of this, “I'd do anything for you, baby. I got enough bulge to fuck you don't I?”

“Hah! Your little bulge ain’t getting anywhere _near_ my nook!”

Hanael, you fucking moron. You try to laugh it off, “B-baby, that’s not what—”

The cobaltblood gives you an unpleasant leer and snaps his fingers, “Boys? Little whack slut wants some breakfast. You nah wot to do, and they betta dig themselves or yous can fuckin go back on da street or go cryin' back to ya mama!”

You glance at the others. Oh fuck. This....isn't going to be good but this is his posse. They’re all coldbloods and there’s no way you can run now. You either lay back and take it or they’ll take it, gut you, and dump your body somewhere in Aniline End. Just keep acting along. You give them a cocky smirk even though you can feel a part of you dying on the inside.

“Heh, I hope you boys have some _stamina_.” you say, with a playful gleam in the eye.

* * *

Three months go by like this and every day the same humiliation without fail.

 

 

You knew this day would come. It was only a matter of time. You are getting sick more often, unable to finish blowjobs, growing weaker, and yet at the same time putting on weight. Hanael had started to yell at you for not pulling your own weight in the gang and you finally blurted out that you were knocked up. Of course, the asshole you called your “boyfriend” did not respond well.

“Yous iz fucking pregnant!? Did yous fucking not take pills or sumthing yous stupid biatch!?”

He hits you again, hard across your face with a snarl. Your hatred of Hanael has always been measured by your disgust of him but now…now it’s starting to grow even more.  He drags you through hell for these past three months and now he is smacking you around for being knocked up _before_ you met him?

Oh, you don’t know how or when but you are going to make this fucker _pay._

You inch away from him on the ground, gasping, “Baby, baby, don't worry! I-I was like this before we fucked, baby. That was why the sex was so good...n-no worries I won't make you pay anything for this brat.”

That seems to calm him down, knowing that the grub isn’t his. He stops hitting you at least. He growls and sits on the sagging couch. He cracks open a can of bear and gulps it down, “Da father betta not be fucking comin’ around lookin’ fer yous or I'll gut yous an' ya stupid eggsak got it biatch?”

You shake your head, trembling, “N-no baby, they aren’t around and no one knows w-where I am,”

He scowls still, “Dat iz good, but now yous iz fucking useless bein’ da hefer! How yous gonna earn ya fucking keep in da house?! We should get y'all flushed out in dere.”

He throws the empty beer can at you. You curl into a ball as it bounces off the bruise on your arm.  He is not in a good mood now. He might leave you now. You are shaking. You don’t want to.....to abort this grub. You don’t think you could live with yourself if you did that. You lick your dry lips and look up at him.

“B-baby…let me help you sell the drugs. The cops won’t suspect me if I'm pregnant and you know it, baby. They won’t su-suspect someone like me at all...”

He snarls at you, but gets to his feet. He moves to the cabinet where he keeps the “stuff”. It is the drugs his father passes down to him from the labs where they cook it. He turns and tosses you a plastic baggie of dull, lime green crystals.

“Yous sell dat shit an' yous betta do it before tonight or yous iz on da street got it biatch? I ain't gonna start da charity fe yous an' ya fucking brat!”

You nod and stand. You're trying not to quake. You pick up the baggie. Its crystallized soporin and fuck, this shit is powerful and dangerous. A snort of this and you'd be blasted....or dead. You have to push this serious drug. You have to deal drugs or you're out on the street and you'll truly be fucked then. You take a deep breath and smile at Hanael.

“Okay, baby, I...w-where do...w-where should I sell this...?”

He comes over again and smacks you across the face. You touch your cheek as he snarls at you, “Yous just fucking sell it! Yous too brain dead to evun figure out where after three months here?! _Useless cripple!_ ” He bares his fangs at you, “Git out dere and work!”

You nod and quickly move to the door, “O-okay baby...I-I'll do that...”

You’re wearing a hoodie and shorts. Even in the warm summer night, you’re trembling with fear like its ten below. You step out onto the street and look about. Suddenly, the neighborhood feels six times more dangerous now that you are laden with drugs. Fuck. _Fuck_! You are _fucked_. You might get held up. Or stabbed or—shit. No. Don’t think about that. Go with the flow.

 

Just sell it. Be Hanael. This is just role-playing in a different form. You're tough. You don't give a shit. You're just out to sell your shit and get back home. You take a deep breath and hurry off into the night, praying to the gods you will be all right _._

* * *

You sell for a whole month. Hanael doesn’t throw you out. You’re grateful to the fucker.

You come into your dingy motel room panting. That was a close call. Some crazy limehead came at you with a broken bottle wanting his drugs. You managed to somehow outrun him _and_ keep the drugs on you. Hanael will be pleased the drug cargo wasn't lost. You put a hand on your stomach, grimacing. Four months of this hell. Four months and you know any day now you are going to pop out this egg.

Humans have a nine month pregnancy. For trolls, it was four months for the egg to come out and about three more months until the egg would hatch into a grub.  The pain on your pelvis has been agony. Walking, sitting, sleeping, doing anything resulted in blazing cramps. You sometimes just wanted to rip your metal legs off and throw them away just to get away from the pain.

You learned to ignore it though. You thought about using drugs to dull the pain (and your current situation in general)...but rule number one of pushing was never do your own shit. You sigh and sink into the couch, wincing. There has to be a better way to help Hanael and earn your keep than pushing on the street. It is getting dangerous and with your due date being any day now, you risk having to give birth in a back alley. That terrifies you more than anything. There has to be something...

Your eyes widen when it dawns on you. Of course. You could....you could help _make_ the drugs. You were the only one who actually got an A in chemistry. Even Kanaya had trouble in that class. You could easily brew your own crystal soporin if he is supplying the materials. It’s just chemistry at work after all. You begin to look up the recipes for making crystal soporin online using your palmhusk, letting your mind do the calculations as you wait for your “boyfriend” to return to his room.

It is many hours before he returns, with some giggling woman dangling off his arm. He pauses to scowl at you, pushing his companion of him, “What are ya doing here? Why aren’t yous out sellin’?”

You purr at him, “Baby, selling is too dangerous for me. What if I get cut up? But I think I can do better in cooking you some stuff baby. Some good shit you can really sell high.”

It is silent for a while. His brow furrows. He turns to the woman and kisses her, “I'll be back, baby, got some quick bizness to do.”

When the woman walks off, he moves over to you and grabs your shoulder. He drags you out of the motel, scowling, “Fine, I'll get yous a job cookin’....but now yous in dept up to your eyes to us. Yous squeal? I'll kill your fucking family in front of yous. _Got it bitch?_ ”

You nod, swallowing dryly. “Yes, baby…”

Oh gods. Oh gods, you’ve fucked up bad now. What have you gotten yourself into?

What have you gotten your _family_ into?

You feel numb as he drags you along to his car. You slip into the passenger seat and remain quite as you drive down towards Dockside or as you grew up knowing it—Happy Harbor. It was at the edge of Aniline End and hung out over the sea. It used to be an old seatroll community that was now a pile of rust and warehouses nearly falling into the water. The shipbreakers worked at the far end breaking down ships into scrap to be sold off. It was also where a lot of drug brewing went on in the Aniline area, due to it being difficult to patrol with the roadways half falling into the water and supplies could be smuggled in via the seaways.

 

 

The drive seems to last forever. Eventually the car comes to a halt in front of a small warehouse at the edge of the Happy Harbor part of Aniline End.

Hanael gets out and jerks his head for you to follow, “Move it bitch.”

You nod and shakily get out. You feel the weight of your metal legs more keenly now. You follow Hanael into a small doorway after he talks with some sort of guard. He leads you into the basement where about a dozen yellow and rust bloods are sitting—stirring pots, watching chemicals in beakers boil, pouring fluids into glass pans. They all look half starved, eyes sunken into their heads and ready to pass out. Guards walk through the aisles, making sure they are doing their job and not slipping any of the stuff for themselves. The place reeks of chemicals and yet no one is given masks to protect themselves. You are pretty sure most of them are bleeding internally from the chemicals they huff daily while making this shit.

Hanael pushes you toward a guard. You feel like you are being thrown in prison.

“Dis bitch is a brewer.” he growls, “If he ain’t here every morning at nine and workin’ till nine at night, get me and I'll set dis bitch _straight_.”

The guard takes you to an old table at the end heaped with what you can only guess is second hand equipment and set up. You are given the ingredients. You take a deep breath. Alright. Time to make yourself useful.

The hours pass slowly. Being a plaything for Hanael’s friends was not hell. This is definitely hell that you’re sitting in. Sitting in the sweltering heat in a low ventilated warehouse, crunching numbers, sweat stinging your eyes, making crystal soporin and inhaling toxic chemical that no doubt will cause harmful mutations to the your egg still inside you.

You push through it.

When the guards start yelling that the shift is over, you want to collapse and kiss the ground. You quickly sneak a small sample of your stuff into your jacket and hurry out. Of course Hanael is not there to pick you up but you’re able to get to a bus station and get a ride back. Your stomach is churning more. You feel sick and the pain on your pelvis is back with a vengeance. This time you can’t ignore it.

You come back to the motel and go to Hanael's room. You open the door. His posse is in the living room, drinking, smoking and carrying on. Hanael has a new bitch in his lap who is giggling and kissing him. You walk into the room.

“Hey baby...I'm back did you miss me?” you purr, cozying up to your boyfriend.

He frowns at you and rolls his eyes, “Yeah, yeah whatever. Go next door to yous room. Busy here!”

You pout and take out the tiny bag with a bit of your crystal sopor in it, “But baby look what I made. It is ten times stronger than your stuff baby. Why don’t you give it a try?”

You hope he takes it and overdoses on it so you can get away from this bastard. He scowls more and swats your hand away, “I ain’t crazy enough to shoot dat stuff, ho! And yous ain’t suppose to be takin’ shit from the lab! I'll let it slide _dis_ time bitch...but next time I is turnin’ yous in got it? Now get next door bitch! I ain’t got time fo' yous right now!”

You nod and scamper off. Fuck. You were hoping you could tempt that bastard into overdosing, or even one of his boys. You know one of them is using on the side. You stuff the vial in his hoodie pocket and grit your teeth. You enter your shithole of a room.

Fuck him. Fuck your “boyfriend” who treats you like shit. Fuck his disgusting posse of wannabe gangsters. Fuck them all. You’d leave this place if you could—if you knew now your family wasn't at risk. You’re feeling sick again. You are nervous, tense, completely stressed out....and you feel a sharp pain in your abdomen. You gasp and nearly fall to the stained carpet.

No.

Not now.

The pain comes again, this time more urgent. You grunt and grasp your bulging midriff. Something warm drips down your legs. You look down and see a slow dark stain forming on your shorts. You whimper and crawl up onto your bed. Another pain slams into your abdomen causing you to cry out miserably.

You shiver and squirm on the hard mattress. Next door the music is blasting and you can hear Hanael and his gang carrying as they play videogames and enjoy the company of East End Way whores. You grit your teeth. Your hand trembling, you slide your shorts down. There’s no stopping what’s about to happen.

And it isn’t quick or easy. You don’t have the strength to do this on all fours because of your enflamed pelvis. You lay on your back, screaming your throat raw for hours, tears running down your face. You feel the egg moving downward. The mattress is soaked in your bronze blood. You are scared and alone and all you want to do is cry for your mother.

But Rufioh won’t suddenly burst in to hold you and help you through this. Hanael will not suddenly grow a heart and save you either...

When the egg finally comes out you just collapse into a weeping heap. You black out. You don’t know for how long.

You wake up to the smell of blood. It is dark out and Hanael, thankfully, never came over to see what all the shrieking was about. You move. Your body screams in protest, wanting to rest after your long and difficult labor. But you have to see it....

The egg is average sized, still covered in blood but it is clearly a brown color with a few cerulean swirls on the surface. It is a smooth surface although sticky right now. You feel yourself choke up. This is your egg. Your grub right here....and if Hanael finds it, you have no doubt in your mind he will smash it. You bite your lip. What now? You can’t keep it…you can’t bring it home.

You quake more and hug it close. The surface is warm. You let out a sob. You want to keep it. Gods, you want to keep it but...but there is no way you could raise this grub without it being as messed up as you are. You can’t raise this grub while you’re chained to Hanael. It is probably already messed up from you inhaling those fumes.

No. You can’t keep your child. You just can't.

You just sit there in the motel, holding your egg. You don’t know how much time passes before you slowly force yourself to your feet. You go to the bathroom and wash the egg off along with your face. You return to the bedroom to wrap the egg in one of the unsoiled blankets. You put your shorts back on, still dotted with your blood. You take the egg and walk to the door.

Each step feels like it takes a lifetime as you hobble out the door, away from the hotel with your wrapped up egg in your arms. You are tired. So fucking tired right now. You want to collapse. You want to curl up and die.

You keep moving, following along the main road. You’re numb enough to ignore the pain. After an hour, you find yourself at the steps of the closest police station. You stand there staring at it before forcing yourself up the stairs. You don't go inside. What courage you had to come all this way fails you now. You just put it next to the door and turn to flee. You leave your egg there.

You just abandoned your child. At least the police will find it a better home somewhere. You hope. You bite back a sob and keep running until the police station is far behind you. You are in incredible pain. You smell like blood and desperation. Your pelvis feels like it broke into shards of glass that are now cutting your insides up. You shake. You..... you want to go home.

You straighten up. You wipe away your tears. You want to go home. Your _real_ home where Rufioh is. The home that was always warm and protective and loving. You want to curl up on your daybed, in the scent of morning glory Rufioh used to clean everything with. You want to slip into your recuperacoon and sleep for days in the warm welcoming goo. You’ve had enough of being in hell.

You begin to stagger forward, arms clasped around you. You are going home. The summer of hell has to come to a close. You'll go home....rest....and then face Hanael again.

But right now you need to go home.

You just pray to whatever gods that are listening that your child finds a loving family and is given a brighter future than your own.


	4. epilogue

===> Be the Carpacian Janitor

 

Your name is Diamond D. Droog. You are the janitor on duty at the police station currently. You aren’t really anyone important honestly. Just a janitor....one that is part of the Midnight Janitorial Crew which usually cleans house for mobster overlords and what not. However, as part of your “extra duties”, you and your crew also clean police stations to get the dirt on what is going on and report back to the mobsters. It pays a lot better than just cleaning after all.

Even though life is good, you’re still agitated. The boss of the crew, one Spades Slick, is taking more paid time off as he just found himself a little honey to marry—thus giving the rest of you more hours to make up. It wouldn’t bother you too much if he had at least been fair in who got more hours. Pretty much all the hours he took off was dumped on _you_.

You still can't believe Boxcar got less than you. Not like he has anything better to do than sit around watching baseball and screaming for the Bankees to win. Fat lard bucket couldn’t even _dress_ properly which also irritated you.

You are taking the trash out as your long useless shift at the station is about to end. Nothing happened. No clues brought in for you to sneak in and look at. No evidence to tamper with. Hell, not even anything to use as blackmail as the police chief wasn’t even bribed with hoes today. Boring day. Waste of your time and you are _definitely_ going to complain to Slicks as this was supposed to be his shift.

However, something gives you pause. You set down the garbage can and crouch down. There, on the doorstep of the police station is a troll egg wrapped in a sheet. It’s a brown color but it has swirls of cerulean blue mixed in. It is not uncommon for eggs to turn up on the police doorstep. Usually they are either transferred to an orphanage or sold to the black coats.

Hm.

You _do_ need an assistant and it would be a way to force Slicks to give you the reduced hours so you could better enjoy your Grey Lady Monthly and finally organize your summer wardrobe.

You pick up the egg. Yes. You need an assistant and no one is going to really ask questions, although perhaps it is rare for a carapacian to adopt a troll. Eh. You’ll figure out a story. You tuck the egg into your satchel and pick up the garbage can again to take it out to the dumpster.

Yes, a little troll helper would no doubt help your standing with the mobsters as you could raise him to be a fighter and good muscle. Yeah. And he would of course look well-dressed while doing it. And of course he would be much better behaved and cordial than these ill-mannered hooligans. You smirk.

Seems this day wasn't a total waste after all...


End file.
